There the Olympic flame of globed light flickers,
In the gloom and mist of smoke and mirrors.
The smells - tantalizing mix of wine and women, scents and
sweat and consumption, amidst the idea of possibility, lounges silently
Waiting.
The ember is just another part, and the eyes are far away, even as the smile
Extends, like a slightly languid version of itself...but not to the visage:
No, not yet.
The lamp's gleam reflects another part, another place, another past - another
Other, and Of, and Beyond.
Darkest Charlie, waiting.
A sigh escapes on the other side of the glass, in time with the breath, escaping into the dark, clouded,
Dark and Light of Dragons, cavorting.
Breath, like watching Love, intermingling, even then, in struggle.
No comments:
Post a Comment